Take My Hand, Take My Life
by thexredxrose
Summary: Bert McCracken hates life. That's why he chose to run and leave everything he hates and the one thing he loves, his best friend/lover Gerard, behind, defying everything he's ever known. But all of this is meaningless, and one day he'll have to return...
1. Too Many, Too Much, Screw This I'm Done

_TAKE MY HAND, TAKE MY LIFE_

_by thexredxrose_

_a counterpart to _

_As the Leaves Change in Color_

_by AllApologies451994_

_1. Too Many, Too Much, Screw This I'm Done_

"_Robert Edward McCracken!" _

Her voice still rang in my head, long after the words had been spoken. Screamed. I had come home late, but it was no later than what I've done before. Everything about my life has become defiance to what my parents want and have done all of their life. I can't take them any more, it's like we come from different planets.

I'm sure they feel the same about me.

Especially my mother. She has never been so bitchy in my entire life. It's gotten so ridiculous. I can't count the number of times I've snuck out of house in the past few months…I've been grounded constantly for the past few months…and I know she knew I was getting out, so what exactly made this particular time so special…

It was late, so late; I was in my room, sitting against the door in the dark. I had been sitting there since before the sun went down; I'd been blasting music to cover my screams, but the album had ended and I hadn't cared enough to put on a different one. My mind had been consumed with blazing thoughts about what my life had become.

I hated everything about it.

Well. Maybe not quite everything.

I didn't hate Gerard.

Gerard Way was one of the reasons my mom was so constantly pissed at me. I broke her rules, I stopped going to her Mormon church, I started experimenting with drugs, and I started "dating" Gerard. He's my best friend in the world, but apparently Mom isn't into friends being lovers.

"_I did not raise my son to be a drug addict and a fag!"_

"_Did you raise your son to be a prisoner in his own house?"_ I remembered demanding; I put my head against my knees, groaning as her angry voice echoed through my tortured mind.

"_If you hadn't dropped out of school, this wouldn't be happening!"_

"_If they taught real shit in school, I wouldn't have dropped out!"_

"_Room! Now!"_

"_Fuck you!"_

"_Robert Edward – "_

"Fuck me," I whispered, shifting my head against my knees. I punched my fist against the floor, not caring for the pain it brought me, wishing the wood was splintered so it would cause me real pain, take me away from my own thoughts. I hated this. I hated everything about it. I hated home, I hated life, I hated my mother. I hated the fact that I even hated her at all. Aren't you supposed to love your mother? I used to… Now I can only find love for Gerard.

I stood up in the dark. I crossed the room without any sort of care; I didn't give a fuck if I hit anything, or tripped over something. I felt for my hoodie; I knew it was hanging at the foot of my bed. I pulled it over my aching arms, feeling a nauseous turn of my stomach as I did. I hadn't had that much to drink tonight, but apparently I had still gone too far. I always go too far.

I moved to the window; silvery moonlight flooded the yard and the streets, rendering the streetlamps purposeless, useless. Yet their filthy, yellow light still polluted the moonbeams around the sidewalk. I thrust open the window – I had torn out the screen months ago, when sneaking out became an almost nightly occurrence – and swung my legs one at a time over the ledge. There was no way to get into my room from outside; no trees growing conveniently by the wall. That was why I was always the one who snuck to someone else's house; no one could sneak into mine.

I had made this jump so many times now that I didn't even think about it before I let myself go; the air rushed around me, cold and vibrant, and then my feet slammed into the ground. I rolled with the impact to avoid breaking anything. Gerard teased me once about breaking my foot from jumping out the second floor of my house. That was the first time I ever made the jump. Frank Iero dared me to do it. Gerard asked me not to, but he wasn't as earnest as Frank, and I wanted to do it. And once my bones were broken, I got to lean on Gerard all the way to the hospital. That was nice.

I wasn't hurt this time, but I didn't get up. I just lay on the wet grass, my blond hair splayed around my face, my arms spread out to the sides. This should have felt nice, but I wasn't feeling it. I lay still for what felt like a minute…I think it may have been several…and inside I still burned, I burned with an uncontrollable pent up anger and guilt and pain, unable to make it stop, make them leave. It made me want to scream, but I knew I couldn't, I knew my mom was like, yards away from me in her room. So I rose, thrusting my cold hands into the pockets of my hoodie, and started to walk. I'm not sure I consciously knew where I was going; if you asked me, I wouldn't have been able to answer. I might have made something up, but it wouldn't have been where I really ended up going. But when I got there; when I stopped by the wall and looked up at the window above me, the awkward, twisted tree growing up next to it, the tree that I had climbed so many times on so many other nights, I was not in any way surprised to see where I had come. Gerard's house, Gerard's room… I didn't need him, I realized; I wasn't here because I needed him. I didn't need him to comfort me and tell me it was okay. It was very much not okay. My whole life was more fucked up than even he could heal. And as I gazed up at the moonlight glinting off his window, I came to realize something that I must have been thinking subconsciously all this time. And I wasn't sure I believed it. But I wanted to run. I wanted to leave. I wanted to escape.

I placed my hands on the gnarled branches of that ancient, twisted tree, and I started to climb. I knew suddenly that I was going to leave tonight. I was leaving this town and I was never looking back. But I couldn't leave without telling Gerard. He might react badly, but I didn't give a shit. He couldn't change my mind; I needed to get out. But he still needed to know. I can't just leave him. I think the pain would kill me.

I jumped for the window ledge, grasping it with both hands and heaving myself up higher. All the other times I'd done this, Gerard had been waiting for me, the window already open, his hands waiting to grasp mine and pull me through into his room. This time he had no idea I was here; his pale, vampiric hands weren't there to grasp mine, and the window was firmly closed. I braced myself with one arm, reaching for the window with the other hand. The window was probably locked; my stomach twisted again as I struggled to push the window open. Maybe if I could use _both hands…_

Suddenly the window started to move without my effort. I raised my eyes with the window, looking up from under my lashes at the pale, perfect face of my own Gerard Way. My mind briefly registered that he looked completely exhausted. I had probably woke him up, but I didn't care.

"Bert," he said, his voice full of the exhaustion clearly displayed in his eyes. He grasped my arm and helped me up onto the window ledge. I jumped to the floor and walked past him, my mind a blazing chaos of words and insults and emotion. I couldn't leave, I was thinking. I couldn't do it. I didn't want to leave him. I loved him so much...

"Bert, what are you doing?" I heard him ask.

I heard his footsteps and glanced around to see him climbing back into the bed, lying against the pillows and watching me, his eyes glowing with reflected moonlight.

I crossed the room as though drawn to him and sat down on the bed next to him. I turned, gazing at his concerned expression. "Gerard," I whispered, reaching for him, taking his face in my hands, our foreheads almost touching as I came closer. His breath fanned across my face. "Gerard…" I brushed my thumb gently across his cheek. I could feel myself breaking, my throat tightening, my heart threatening to burst from my ribcage. "I have to go."

"What?" he asked. His voice sounded distant, even though his mouth was mere inches from my face. I thought he sounded incredulous. He didn't believe me.

"I need to leave. I can't stand it here. I can't stay another minute, forget another night." The words burst from me, rushing in a rapid flow that I was unable to stem. I couldn't look in his eyes.

"Bert, why?" he said, concern filling his voice. "What's wrong?"

"My mother," I muttered, still not looking at him. "She's being such a bitch," I whispered to his chest, my voice shuddering slightly. I was going to cry.

"So you're leaving?" I heard him ask quietly.

I nodded just a little, biting my lower lip.

I felt his hand brush against my face, sending faint chills through my numbed body. "Why?" I heard him ask. I looked up as he gently stroked my hair out of my face, and our eyes met in the silver light.

"Because I can't take this anymore," I spat suddenly, looking away from him, but being unable to see him was unbearable, made the pain so much more real, crashing down on my shoulders and beating over my head. I turned back, shifting and climbing more fully onto the bed, straddling one of his legs and coming closer to him than before, tangling my hands in his hair. I could smell him, and it was intoxicating, offering a false comfort I knew I could never have. With a sudden angry, decisive breath, I closed the insignificant distance between us, crashing my lips against his. I needed so desperately to feel him and know that he was real, that there was something beyond my hopeless, burning reality. He kissed me back blearily, his lips moist and warm. I sucked at his lower lip for a moment before pulling away, holding him still with my hands. "I love you Gerard," I whispered, my voice hoarse and grating. "I love you so much…" And then I stood, left the bed, crossing the floor, climbing into the window, thoughtlessly jumping down from the window ledge into the silvery moonlight beyond. I rolled back to my feet, feeling no pain from the impact of landing. My thoughts were twisted and whirling and foggy and confused, but there was one thing I knew for dead certain.

I was leaving.

And I was never coming back.

**Hey guys. So, you wanna know what happens to Gerard after Bert leaves? Read AllApologies451994's As the Leaves Change in Color. It's awesome :)**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	2. Slipped in Spit, Slept in a Ditch

_2. Slipped in Spit, Slept in a Ditch_

I woke up in the grass. Oh that sucks… My head was absolutely killing me. I thought it would split open and I would die. I heard this weird rushing sort of sound blow passed me. It was familiar, but I couldn't place it, and don't really want to place it. I honestly just want to die.

I shifted my hand and felt moisture around my fingers. Water, and, like, grass or something. And it was cold. I realized I was cold. And my entire body felt it, but especially my chest, my legs. I tried to get up a little, but my head absolutely pounded; my neck felt like it couldn't support the weight of my skull. I opened my eyes and saw grey light, dirty green colors, my lank blond hair hanging in dripping strands around my face. Oh. I was drenched. I was…lying in a ditch.

I groaned, grasping a handful of slick grass and pulling it from the ground. I shifted, feeling pain like knives stabbing into my skull with every movement…like I'd fallen into an oubliette and each movement drove the spikes deeper through my skin. But I didn't care about the pain; I deserved to feel all of this. I shifted more, pushing myself up on my hands, keeping my head low. That rushing, blaring noise blew past me again, and it finally registered in my brain what that sound was. It was cars, cars rushing by on the highway. I was lying in a ditch under a grey dawn beside a highway. I remembered something about walking along this narrow line last night, and I realized it had been the white line along the edge of the highway. I remembered cars dodging around me to the left, people blaring their horns and angry voices shouting as they drove by, but I'd never moved aside for them, never cared enough to even flip them off. I didn't care if they hit me, or if I forced them to move to avoid me. Just avoid me. I don't fucking care.

I hung my head, hair dripping with dank, filthy ditchwater, and knelt there on my knees, water flowing slowly around my legs, cold seeped through to my very core. My chest felt exceptionally cold in the frigid morning air, the fabric of my shirt and hoodie soaking wet in front, but dry over my back. I must have fallen into the ditch at some point last night…I must have passed out…but I couldn't remember falling, and I didn't remember landing, and I didn't remember when it might have happened or where I might be now. Another car blazed past me. I was vaguely surprised that I hadn't drowned. I think I landed on one of my arms somehow, and it had kept my head above water. My chest ached, I realized, like right over my lowest rib. I put my hand over the spot and the pain spiked. I think I'm bruised from landing on something. Probably a rock in this stupid, fucking ditch. I shifted again, water splashing around me, and finally I was on my feet.

My vision went completely black and I stumbled, seeing nothing, only hearing as cars raced by me. Oh em gee, I'm going to die. And no one will care. Except maybe Gee. He'll care no matter what I've done, no matter what happens to me. I can't believe I left him. I left him there alone. This was all my fault, and whatever pain he felt was because of me and me alone.

"Fuck me," I whispered, and almost instantly my vision cleared. I raised my eyes, opening my fingers so I could see through to the highway. There wasn't a lot of traffic and I thought that maybe the sun wasn't really fully risen beneath this thick, disgusting grey cloud cover. Or maybe it had been risen forever and it was like three in the afternoon and I've laid in a ditch for the end of the night and most of the day. I should catch hypothermia and die.

I moved slowly up to the road. My head was still throbbing painfully and my stomach felt really shifty. I hoped that, if someone did pull over for me, I wouldn't puke all over their car. That might turn them off.

I heard another car coming, and I started to raise my head, thinking maybe if I tried to look less hung-over, I'd get a better chance at hitching a ride. But before I'd even done anything, the guy was pulling over next to me. Okay. He gets points for something, I don't even know what.

I moved to his truck as quickly as I could; I almost fell on my face for trying to run. The truck was old, like an old Ford I think. I don't remember what that symbol means anymore. I met his eyes through the window as I reached for the door. Water was dripping off of my shirt and my hair; my hand left this wet print on the door where I grasped the handle.

"Whoa, kid. You okay?" this grizzled dude with a large beard asked me.

"Mmm," I mumbled as I pulled myself in. My arm shuddered under the weight of my abused body. I wasn't sure if what I'd said was an affirmative or negative, but I didn't _care_, I just wanted to get in and sit still and pray not to puke and feel warm air blowing on my frozen face.

"Ooh-kay," the guy said, sounding a little skeptical and maybe even concerned. "Where you going, kid?"

"Just wherever," I said, slumping low in the seat and raising my hands toward my face, but not knowing what to do with them. "Next town or, whatever. Just…not to Belleville."

"Yeah, Belleville's back that way, kid, I wouldn't be taking you back there anyway," the man said, shifting the gear in his old truck. Someone blared their horn at him as they drove by us, the sound causing this wicked spike to drive into my skull right between my eyes. The old guy yelled at them, and the spike twisted just a little. Then he was pulling us out onto the road. He was good with his stick shift, but the movement was still jerkier than any vehicle I was used to. Every jolt made my hangover generally worse than it already was. If that was even possible. Of course it was. It can always get worse.

"So what you doing out here, anyway, kid? You running from home?"

How'd he guess that so easily. "Mm," I said again.

"You feeling all right, kid?"

Was he serious?

"Never mind. Stupid question. Of course you're not."

At least he understood.

"You got a place to go in the city?"

I shook my head against the back of the truck's stained front seat, letting my hair fall over my eyes.

"Well, I'll take you to the best place I can find, but I can't do much more than that."

I didn't care. I didn't care where he left me. I wasn't even sure I cared that he was taking me anywhere at all, except that his truck had a heater, and it made my frozen skin feel better, and my stomach feel worse. I'd rather be warm though.

The drive went on for I don't know how long, and then I felt the truck shuddering as it slowed and I thought we were pulling to the side. Oh shit, my head hurts...

"Okay. This is where I can take you. I've gotta go to work now, or my boss'll kick my ass."

I opened the door without speaking; a rush of cold hit me in the face, instantly chilling the wet skin that had been so warm in the truck.

"Stay alive, kid," I heard the guy mutter to my back. I turned and closed the door. The truck drove away. I couldn't move, I couldn't move at all. I was frozen there on the concrete, not even wanting to think about moving. I imagined moving would probably make me feel worse than I already did, which was what finally pushed me into moving. As much as I hated myself, I was freezing freezing freezing cold and I wanted to lose the wet clothes and get _dry_.

I stepped into a dank alleyway, devoid of life but not at all of trash. And I thought about all the places I could go and things I could possibly do now. I wasn't really sure what city I was in, but it seemed to be of a fair size, so that was nice. I had no money with me, because I had walked out…jumped out…in all my brilliance on a random spur of the moment and hadn't taken anything with me at all. Actually…no…I reached into the back pocket of my jeans and felt the soft edges of money. I pulled it out in a rush. How had I not spent all of this yesterday? Oh yeah, one of my friends had owed me lots for beating him at some random dare. I didn't even remember what I'd done to earn it, only that it had been done months and months ago and it had taken him forever to pay me back, so I had made him buy my beer last night. I owe myself a lot now, for being crazy enough to have taken that dare in the first place, to earn the money that had saved me from spending what was in my pocket, so that I still had some now, now that I was standing in this empty, filthy, wet alleyway with no idea where I was or how far it was from Belleville, where I was going or what I should do now that I'm here. I slowly flipped through the money, my brain taking more effort than usual to figure the total of dollars I held in my hands. I had twenty-four bucks. That was pretty sad.

I put the money back in my jeans pocket and pulled off my hoodie. I shook it a couple times and wrung it out, then dropped it on an overflowing trash can and pulled off my t-shirt. I wrung it tightly, shook it out and pulled it back over my head. I groaned. My head weighed so much right now. I pulled the hoodie back over my wet arms, and left the alleyway.

I bought some really shitty breakfast in this diner and asked what town I was in, and the lady behind the bar told me I was in Bloomfield. And she looked at me like I should seriously know better, and also like I should seriously get my dripping, filthy self out of her diner. Yeah, whatever. I'm a paying customer, so she didn't kick me out. I was pretty thrilled to be in Bloomfield. I'd like to be farther away from Belleville, but still, this is pretty good. And, I knew someone in Bloomfield. I wasn't sure how the fuck I was going to _find_ him, but at least I knew he was here somewhere. I had all the time in the world to find him.

**You guys catch the reference to Bert's just-broke-my-arm poetry?**

_**Slipped in spit,**_

_**Ate shit,**_

_**Fell off the side of the stage,**_

_**Lickity-split.**_

_**Couldn't quit,**_

_**Finished the rest of the show**_

_**To feel legit,**_

_**Ate some pain pills**_

_**Got over it.**_

**Gotta love Bert McCracken. :)**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	3. Hot Water & Cold Chinese

_3. __Hot Water & Cold Chicken_

So, Quinn Allman is this friend of mine…of ours, I guess, of mine, and Mikey and Frank and…Gerard. But he lives in Bloomfield, so we didn't get to see him every day or anything. But I love him to death, and I know if I can find him, he can help me out of this wreck.

If I can find him. I feel slightly better now that I've eaten something, so I went out and started wandering the city, hoping I would randomly come across his street as I walked.

No. No I did not. I passed by several different residential sections in town, but none of them were like his, so I kept walking. I walked basically all that day, and did not find him or his house or anything else that might have been even remotely helpful. I wandered into this park some time before sundown…at least that's what time I assume it was, since the sky had remained overcast and I hate watches. I walked up to a random park bench that I really meant to just sit down on, but that I ended up practically falling onto instead. I lay curled up on the hard metal. It was cold and my clothes still weren't dry. All I wanted was to be warm again…

And then I was waking up. Waking up on a park bench is actually really uncomfortable. Every part of me ached, and I was so cold I thought I was going to die. My throat felt raw and I could not feel my nose. I decided to get up, and walk, because I would probably be warmer if I was walking.

I was shivering and my teeth were actually chattering – which has _never_ happened to me before – and then I walked by this one street and...and I don't know, but I was pretty sure this was his street. It looked like his street. The houses were all trashy and small and exactly the same. There was loud music blaring from one of the houses near me. There were crappy cars and a few random people on the sidewalks. There was this one guy pushing a mini-bike into his house so no one would steal it while he's gone. Yeah, I think this is his street.

I'm not really sure about it because the few times I've been here, Gee was the one driving, and I don't pay attention to where we're going when he's driving. I'd rather pay attention to him.

I wasn't even really sure what _side_ of the street Quinn's house was on. I remembered it had white vinyl siding though. Kind of like that house up there. Actually…no, I think that actually is his house. It doesn't have all the random junk outside like these other houses do. The black shutters look like his. Yeah, I think this is it.

I skipped up the porch steps in a state of mounting ecstasy. I was going to hang out with Quinn, I would get to see Quinn, and talk with Quinn, and just generally be with Quinn, and it was going to be awesome! Best day ever. I reached out my hand and rang the door bell. I had to push the button twice to get it to work. And then I waited impatiently for my friend to answer the door.

Finally the door swung open.

"Can I help you?" asked this skeptical-looking middle-aged woman.

Oh crap.

"Um…is Quinn Allman home?" I asked, even though I knew this wasn't his mom. Even if it was, Quinn had moved out a few months ago, so this couldn't be his house.

"I have no idea who you're talking about," she said, closing the door.

Ew. That didn't work.

I moved down the street, knocking on the door of every house with white plastic siding I could find. Some people asked me if they could help, some opened the door and slammed it closed again. I must have looked pretty bad, haha. Then finally, this one door opened…I was _not_ expecting anything good, since the last person had opened their door just long enough to catch sight of me and had closed it immediately, muttering disgustedly, "Get off my porch, you fucking moron." So I wasn't expecting good things.

And what I got was Quinn.

I was so surprised to see him that I didn't even speak.

"Bert?" he said, looking like he thought I was somehow someone else.

"Yeah," I said. That was literally all I could say.

"Dude, what…what happened to you, you look like you slept in a ditch."

"Yeah," I said again, nodding.

"Okay, come in. And _explain_."

I stepped over the threshold and Quinn grabbed me by the arm, pulling me back into his room, demanding an explanation for my sorry state. My clothes were still damp, and my hair was still damp, and I was probably really filthy from lying in that ditch.

I told him about all the things I had done and all the things my mom had done and how I had run away, while letting him drag me back into his room where he found me a t-shirt that wasn't crumpled and dirty or lying on the floor. He handed it to me and I immediately pulled off my filthy hoodie and my damp t-shirt, pulling his over my head. It smelled nice.

"Okay," said Quinn. "Dude. I think you're sick in the head. But you were always sick in the head."

"Thanks, Quinn," I answered, grinning in a state of bleary, hungry, sleep-deprived, just-found-my-best-friend ecstasy.

"So where are you going?"

"I don't know." "You don't know?"

"No idea. Just going." Quinn paused for a moment, looking at the wall, and then turned back to me. "What if you just stayed?"

"Why would I want to stay? Quinn, how could I _stay_ with her, she's a monster, and…"

"No, not with her. I mean with me. Would you want to just stay with me?"

My brain stopped working for a moment. I had not been planning on staying with him at all, even for a night, I just thought, because he lives here, and I was here, I need to go and find him. I hadn't been planning on staying with anyone at all. I don't know what I was planning.

"With you?" I asked numbly.

"Yeah." He kicked his foot against the floor, not really looking at me, like he thought I didn't want to and I was going to say no. "I was kind of thinking I needed someone else to help with the rent and stuff and I mean, you…"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, man, of course I will."

Quinn looked up, his eyes excited. "Awesome! Okay, but you will need to help me pay the rent and everything, I can't just let you freeload…"

"No, I'll work, I'll find something." "Awesome. Come on, are you hungry, when was the last time you ate?"

"Um…" I wasn't really sure. Was that yesterday? "Like…yesterday morning…or something." I really had no idea what time it was when I walked into that diner.

"Dude," Quinn said, stopping and turning to give me a serious look. I was rubbing my arms and trying not to let my teeth chatter anymore. Quinn's look got more serious but slightly more caring. "You're freezing aren't you?"

"I'm dying."

"Okay. Go, bathroom's over there, take a shower and get cleaned up. I'll find you something dry to wear, okay?"

I nodded, still clutching at my arms. I didn't realize I wasn't moving until Quinn walked around me and began pushing me down the hall towards the bathroom. "Bert, you're ice-cold," he informed me, still pushing against my shoulder blades. "I think you're lucky to be alive, man."

"Dumb luck," I responded, stepping into the bathroom. The first thing I saw was my face in Quinn's bathroom mirror. I looked kind of blue, I thought. And my hair looked worse than normal. I thought my face looked really pale, and my eyes had deep, dark circles around them that had nothing to do with liner.

I was snapped out of my contemplation as Quinn turned on the water in the shower. I turned automatically toward the sound. Water did not look nice at all, but the steam drifting from it looked fantastic.

"I'll be back," said Quinn, clapping me on the shoulder on his way out.

I followed him with my eyes until he had stepped around the door and was out of sight. The door was open half-way, and I didn't bother closing it as I stripped out of my old clothes plus Quinn's t-shirt. I stepped into the water and it was so fucking hot I actually screamed. I heard Quinn's voice faintly from somewhere outside, saying something like, "Hey, Bert, be careful, I bet the water's hot."

"Whatever!" I shouted back, forcing myself to step under the water again and stay there, even though it felt like the water was burning my skin off.

I heard Quinn's footsteps in the bathroom and this sound which I associated with clothes being thrown on the floor. "Brought you something to wear. Hope it fits. I'm gonna see what there is to eat, okay? Don't drown yourself while I'm gone." For some reason, all of that struck me as really sweet of him. I felt slightly teary, which wasn't really that surprising…I cry all the time, I just do. "Thanks, Quinn," I murmured, but I think he was already gone.

I finished showering and turned off the water. I groaned, but not really from any sort of pain. I didn't feel cold anymore; it felt like I'd been cold forever. I felt clean, and nice, and…really, really hungry. I stepped out to see what clothes Quinn had left for me. A black Nirvana t-shirt…I liked that…and dark wash skinny jeans. I have never worn skinny jeans in my life. I like baggy shorts, I think they look better. Unless you're talking about Gerard, in which case, he looks _awesome_ in skinny jeans. He used to buy these women's skinnies, 'cause he could never find any for guys, and they were so loose around the hips that a lot of times they would just fall down without warning. It was hilarious. I think I'm smiling just from thinking about it as I examined the ones Quinn had left for me. They were dark blue, not black like Gerard's, and I couldn't imagine I would look as good in them as he always does in his. But whatever.

Dressed, my hair still dripping, I left the bathroom to look for Quinn.

I found him in the kitchen, which was small and dirty; several beer bottles and unwashed plates littered the counter. He looked around when I came in. "Yeah, sorry about the mess," he said, gesturing to the counter. "The band was over at my house the other day."

"How is the band?" I asked him. Quinn played guitar in this three-piece band called Dumb Luck. I heard they've written music but they don't really have a vocalist.

"Okay, it's kind of awkward right now, though, 'cause…"

I don't really know what he said after that, because he had opened the fridge and was standing half-inside it while he searched for something to eat. I probably would have asked, but he emerged from the fridge for just a moment, setting a white take-out box on the counter and saying, "I probably should throw this out, it's been in here for like a week or something…" before returning to the fridge. My eyes had fixed on the box though. I practically ran to the counter and jumped up to sit on it, taking the box and opening it. It was old Chinese food, like some kind of chicken something. I honestly did not care how old it was, or that it was cold; I opened a drawer with my foot and found a slightly bent fork, and ravenously began to eat. I haven't eaten meat in several months, just to annoy my parents, so it was kind of weird to break my fast on cold Chinese food. Oh em gee, it tasted like life.

Quinn glanced back over his shoulder at me. "…Or you could eat it, that would be cool too." He closed the refrigerator door and came to sit beside me, taking one of the crab rangoons from the take-out box.

"So," he said. "There's basically nothing in my refrigerator. Need to go shopping. Have no money, so can't go shopping, but whatever. I'll get paid tomorrow and we can go somewhere. But tonight, I've got nothing."

"You know anyone that's having a party?" I asked, looking up at him. That was basically my solution to everything. Need something, crash a party.

"I know a friend who's going to some guy's random party," he answered. "I mean, I know this guy who's sort of my friend. I don't like him that much," he mused. "But we could crash."

"I wanna crash."

"You think we should crash?"

"We should definitely crash."

"It's done then, we're gonna crash."

I gazed into Quinn's icy blue eyes and giggled. I couldn't help it. And he laughed at my giggling, and then we were both laughing, and then the whole situation was just so absurd that we couldn't stop. I mean, we were sitting on the counter in Quinn's house, when neither of us had expected to see each other today at all, and I was wearing Quinn's clothes, not to mention I was wearing _skinny jeans_, which is absurd in itself, and we were eating cold Chinese food and planning to crash this guy's party 'cause we have no money and no food except the cold Chinese food we're already eating. This. Is so. Absurd.

**And now I want cold chinese food...**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	4. Dumb Brunette

_4. __Dumb Brunette_

I shouldn't go to parties, because I'm unpredictable and I'm self-destructive, and I never know when I should quit. I never know when to quit anything. Fortunately, I was with Quinn, and he has so much more restraint than I do. He wasn't aware of me enough to stop me before I was drinking my fifth beer, though.

So I woke up and I wasn't sure where I was and I had another awful hangover…_why_ do I keep letting myself do these things? …And I think I'm not at home. Oh yeah, I ran away. Oh, somebody turn off the light, it's killing my head…

I moved just a little, and I realized I was lying on top of someone. So I hugged whoever it was really close and rocked slightly back and forth. "Ooh, somebody turn out the lights…" I moaned.

"Dude, the lights are out, that's the sun."

"Oh." I recognized that voice.

"How's your head?"

"Like it's been impaled."

"And the rest of you?"

"Like I've been run over."

"Nice."

I hid my face in Quinn's chest from the sun. I felt his hands gently massaging my back for a moment before he started pushing me. "Okay. Get off, Bert, I'm going to get up and go to work."

"You're going to go to…work?" I asked, completely distraught. What was this new torture? He was going to leave me alone?

"Yes, I want money today. I go to work, I get money. You do realize what money is at this hour of the morning, don't you?"

"Yes, Mommy," I whined, letting him push and wrestle his way out from under me. I hid my face under the blankets and listened to Quinn moving about the room, getting ready to go into work. This was so unfair. I was completely smashed, shouldn't the rules of life require him to stay here with me until I feel like moving again?

"When are you coming back?" I asked, throwing the covers off of my face and ignoring the stabbing pain of sunlight.

"Noon. We get a half-day at work on Fridays. So I'll be back in no time." I squinted through the dingy light filtering through his window to see him pulling on a blue hoodie and walking out the door. "There's some coffee in the cabinet if you wanna make some…" I heard him calling from down the hallway.

Coffee…Gerard absolutely adored coffee. I hid my face under the blankets again. This was disgusting.

My stomach squirmed for hours, and for hours I refused to get out of bed. Then finally, feeling slightly better, I got up and wandered my way into Quinn's tiny kitchen. I opened several cabinets before I actually found the coffee, and my shaking hands spilled some over the counter as I was making it. I stuffed my cold hands into the pockets of my hoodie as I wandered away from the kitchen, letting the coffee brew. This house was so fucking empty. Everything about it was lonely right now. I've been in Quinn's house several times before, but all those times it's been either dark or so crowded with people that I haven't noticed anything about it. It's really small – it's always seemed that way, but I usually attributed that aspect to the massive crowds – and was probably a fairly nice house decades ago. The walls are all white, made interesting by the dirt, fingerprints, and band posters Quinn put on them. The floors are all hardwood, but some of it looks slightly rotten and they creak almost everywhere. I walked into the living room and fell down on the couch there. Quinn's guitar was leaning against the armrest, still jacked into his amplifier, just waiting for him to come back to play. I reached for it absentmindedly and played a little while as I waited for the coffee. It took my mind off the pain.

I must have been in bed for longer than I'd thought, because I hadn't finished my mug of coffee when I heard someone unlocking the door, and Quinn came into the room carrying a plastic sack full of something. He set it on the table before pulling out his wallet and fanning a fistful of cash in my face. "Payday is awesome," he informed me, sitting next to me on the couch. "Dude, I need some."

I handed him my coffee mug and he took a quick swallow before handing it back. "We've got a hundred dollars. The rest is in my account. I hope we don't need any more of it."

I sipped more coffee – it made my head hurt less.

"I owe four hundred for the rent. That's for this month. Next month, if you're staying, you're paying half of that."

"Okay. I will do that. Somehow. Don't know how yet. But I will."

"Awesome." Quinn leaned forward and pulled open the bag on the coffee table. "And I brought these," he said, handing me a warm sandwich wrapped in white paper. "The best sandwiches in Bloomfield come from Sub Shop," he stated, pulling out another for himself.

We ate lunch sitting on the couch, the conversation slowly picking up as my head began to hurt less.

As soon as I was finished, Quinn gave my arm a push and he pointed back down the hallway. "Now go and get dressed, we're going shopping. Hurry up."

"I assume that means I can take whatever I want from your closet?" I asked as I walked back down the hallway.

"Sure. But find your old clothes, we'll go to the laundromat."

Quinn followed me back so he could gather his most dirty clothes from the bedroom floor, and then we climbed into his car…which is falling apart, by the way…and began to drive.

"Turn out the lights," Quinn snorted.

"What?" I asked, his comment making no sense at all.

"Dude, you woke up this morning and told me to turn out the light. The sunlight."

I blushed a little, not bothering to respond as Quinn laughed. "I'm kind of a dumb blond, sometimes," I said, looking out the window.

"Yeah, sometimes you are."

That gave me an idea. I turned back to Quinn. I must have had that weird light that people claim I get in my eyes, because he looked at me the way those people always do when they say I have it. "But what if I wasn't?"

"If…you…weren't…dumb?" Quinn asked, really confused.

"If I wasn't _blond?_" I said, getting excited. Why had I never thought, among all those other things I'd done to defy my mother, that I could've dyed my hair?

"You wouldn't be Bert," Quinn answered, glancing at me uncertainly. "But we could try it."

"You buy the hair dye?" I asked hopefully.

"No, you buy the hair dye. I'll help you apply it."

We were in town all the rest of that day, buying sustenance and doing laundry and choosing hair dye. I wanted black. Quinn looked mildly concerned about the huge change black hair was going to make on me, but he also looked really interested to know the outcome, so he didn't try to dissuade me. When we got home it was already after dark. I was really excited about my hair dye, so Quinn put away the groceries while I went to play with my hair.

I came into the living room a half hour later with my new hair still wet around my shoulders. Quinn was lying on the couch, watching a screaming and bloody movie that I wasn't really sure if I should classify as_ action_ or_ horror_ yet. Quinn looked around as I came in.

"Whoa," he said, his eyes fixed on my hair. "Whoa, dude. That actually looks good."

"You think so?" I asked, turning a full circle so he could see my hair from every angle.

"Yeah," he said, nodding. Quinn yawned and shifted on the couch. "It's actually kind of sexy."

His yawning made me yawn too, so I walked across to his couch and climbed in next to him. I wasn't thinking about it till I was already down, but as soon as I was lying next to him, memories of Gerard pounded against my brain. I have spent so many nights watching horror movies on the couch with Gerard. So many nights. That was practically my every night last summer. The pain was like razors slicing through my brain. I hid my head against Quinn's chest, whimpering slightly, feeling tears at the corners of my eyes. Quinn put his arms around me, holding me against him…or maybe just making sure I wouldn't fall off the couch. It felt warm and secure, so I closed my eyes and let the screams from the movie wash over me, sounds I could relate to so well, 'cause I wanted so badly to be the one making them.

**This chapter name comes from prom night, when I was explaining to my brother about Bert and Quinn's conversation... "If...you...weren't...dumb?" "If I wasn't _blonde_." And my mom was like, "Then he'd be a dumb brunette!" And that cracked me up. :P**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	5. Dumb Luck

_5. __Dumb Luck_

Obnoxious cause for my early waking today? I think it's called a _ringtone_. Quinn's was generic, but it was really fucking loud, and his phone was really close to my head, and it actually made my head _hurt_. I moaned and pressed myself closer to his chest, wishing but not willing to do anything to make the sound go away.

Quinn shifted next to me, making this sleepy, sighing kind of sound, and reached out for his cell phone. He had to take one of his arms off of me to do it, and I nearly fell off of the couch.

"What the fuck, Bert…" was his bleary response.

"Did you forget I was here?" I mumbled into his chest, giggling a little. 'Cause if he had, that was really funny.

Quinn sighed, grabbing his phone and answering the call. I wouldn't have answered a call this early. I just wouldn't. Actually, I probably wouldn't answer anyway. Gerard used to complain that I never answer my phone. I wondered if he had tried to call me since I left him. _Left him_…those are cursed words and they bring tears to my eyes every time I think them. I thought them over and over and over again, letting myself drown in the pain while Quinn talked to whoever had called him at this ungodly hour.

"No, I was out Thursssday, though…yeah, Thursday. Eh, it was okay. I mean, you guys weren't there… No, I had a friend with me."

So, he's probably talking about me, but I have no idea where it was he was saying we went. Oh wait, Thursday…maybe that was when we went to that one party? I don't know, 'cause I have no idea what day that was or what day it is _now_. I don't really care either.

"You _and_ Branden? Yeah, that's cool, man, I'd love to. And I'm sure he would too. Yeah. Oh, yeeaaah." He sounded kind of distressed. How could he not be, though? How could a call this early not bring some kind of distressing news? "I know. I know. Yes, Jeph, I know, I was _there_." He gave a world-weary sigh and tried to knead his face with his hand, but I was in the way. "No, I don't, Jepha…maybe we'll just have to…" He stopped and I felt him shifting against me. "Um, wait, Jeph. I might. I might actually. …I'll ask. I will. Okay, I'll catch you later. Mmkay, bye."

Quinn set his phone back on the end table and pulled me closer to him. I thought that was kinda sweet until he jerked suddenly and said, "Oh! Whoa. Bert, I forgot you were here."

"Dude, I've been here the whole time," I answered. "Your memory is like, really lame."

"Yeah, whatever," he answered. He wrestled with me until he was lying on his back and I was completely clinging to him to stay on the couch. And he obviously didn't care that I was on the verge of falling.

"So, that was my friend Jeph, from the band…you might remember him…and he's invited us to a party tonight after band practice…we'd just go over together. You up for that?"

"Why would I not be up for that?" I responded, looking over at him.

He gazed back for a moment before commenting, "You look so different with black hair, you know?"

"What?" I asked. Oh yeah, I dyed my hair. I dyed my hair! I had completely forgot about that. I jumped off the couch and sprinted down to the bathroom so I could see myself in the mirror.

"Yeah, who's forgetful now?" I could hear Quinn muttering from the living room.

Wow, my hair is black. That's really different. But it looks good, and I like it.

"Hey, Quinn," I called, meaning to walk out into the hallway but unable to peel myself away from my reflection. He was looking down the hall expectantly when I finally stepped out the bathroom door. "Um….when's band practice?"

"Like, two. It's eleven now. We slept late." He disappeared back into the kitchen. "But it's Saturday, so it doesn't matter."

_Saturday_, I thought, standing still in the hallway. I loved Saturday.

"So, Bert," said Quinn. He was in the kitchen now, so I couldn't see him, but his voice sounded really intriguing, so I came down the hall to join him. He was pulling milk out of the refrigerator. He set it on the counter and stood across from me, his palms spread flat over the countertop, looking serious. "You know my band has no vocalist, right?"

"Yeah. I've known that forever, man." And I had. He was always complaining about it.

"Well, we're kind of needing one. So, we did these auditions, but everyone was _terrible_. We still need someone. Would you be interested at all?"

What? My mind was blown to pieces by those words. Absolutely shattered.

"Yeah, I guess. What's your music like?"

"You'll see later when we go to practice. You don't have to commit or anything until you hear the music."

"So you've written some of your own material?" I asked. I hadn't realized they were writing, I thought they were just…you know…a garage band.

"Yeah, we've written some music. We just don't have a lot of lyrics. We'd probably rely on you for that."

I stood still, thinking about it while Quinn made breakfast for us both. This was…new. And it was nice. It was nice to be wanted, and respected enough to be wanted.

A quarter till two, Quinn drove us over to the house of the band's founder. "Bert, this is Branden Steineckert," Quinn introduced as we shook hands, "and Branden, this is Bert McCracken. Branden's our drummer, obviously," he explained. "He's the one that started all this shit."

Branden smiled and laughed a little. "So Quinn, this is the guy Jeph says you found for us."

"This is Bert," Quinn nodded. "He's - "

There was a screeching of tires behind us that made me jump. Quinn jumped too, though not nearly as much as I had, and looked around, laughing. Branden hadn't moved at all; his entire demeanor stated that the screeching tires were nothing in any way new.

"Um, that's Jeph," said Quinn as a guy stepped out of an old and extremely beaten up Chevrolet Camaro. "Hey, Jeph!"

"Hey, Quinn," he called back as he walked up the driveway. I'm deciding right now that Jeph is daring and doesn't give a shit about what the rest of the world thinks of him. He's about our age but he's got several tattoos and several piercings. And the man is wearing bright red skinny jeans. That takes balls. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Bert McCracken. The latest sucker I've convinced to try out to be our vocalist," Quinn answered, presenting me to Jeph with both hands. "He's also my roommate, so be nice. Bert, this is Jeph Howard, our bassist."

"Hey, Bert," said Jeph, shaking my hand. I'm also deciding right now that Jeph is friendly and awesome.

He let go of my hand and walked around me to Branden, who he slowly began circling. "S'up, Branden?" he asked, kind of like he was taunting him. I glanced at Quinn for an answer, and right as I looked away, Branden must have took a shot at Jeph or something because Jeph was suddenly racing around us with Branden chasing him.

"Holy shit, Jeph," Quinn complained, watching Jeph race passed him for the second time.

"I didn't do it!" Jeph was shouting.

"Jeph, you bastard!" Branden was shouting back.

I huddled close to Quinn to avoid being hit as his insane band mates chased each other around Branden's garage. Quinn let them for several minutes, but after Jeph gained no ground and Branden couldn't catch him, Quinn called the madness to an end. Jeph and Branden actually both stopped as soon as Quinn asked them to. "Guys. You wanna practice now?"

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Sorry about that."

Branden led us down into the basement, which was apparently his room. It was filthy and disordered, but most of the stuff had been kept back around the walls to make room for his band to play. We all assisted Quinn and Jeph in moving their equipment downstairs. Then Branden searched his room and found an old microphone and mic stand. "You ever sung for a band before?" he asked me as he searched for his mic cable.

"I've been in a few bands, yeah," I said, examining the microphone as he continued to search.

Finally Branden returned with a cable. "So I assume you're into our kind of music?"

"Whatever Quinn listens to," I shrugged. "We like all the same music."

"Oh, cool," he said, nodding approvingly. This was the first time since I met Branden that I've seen him honestly approve of something. "So, we're gonna have you sing something. Um, song of your choice. Just sing us something and then we'll play a few songs we all know, 'kay?" He moved to the back of the room and seated himself behind his drum set, watching me expectantly.

I glanced around at Quinn and Jeph, who were both watching me as well. I am the spectacle, the center of attention. "Um," I said. This was kind of awkward, being just put on the spot like this. It would have been nice of Quinn to tell me they were going to make me sing something. I could have thought of something. I had no idea what to sing, what I should sing or even what I wanted to sing. So I just opened my mouth, and sang the first words that came into my mind. I sang…oh em gee. I was singing words that Gerard wrote. I was singing one of his poems, one of the poems he had written and whispered to me in the dark. The pain that memory brought me was only fuel for the emotions behind my voice. I sang, listening to my amplified vocals coming back to me from across the room, hearing the rapid increase in volume and the sudden heart-stopping fall. I whispered a little. I sang the last few lines at a more regular volume, and I stopped. And I remembered I was in Branden Steineckert's bedroom with three musicians watching me and my every move.

"Um," said Jeph.

"Wow," Quinn whispered, and it sent pleasurable chills up my spine.

"Okay," said Branden, his mask of uncaring remaining unbroken. "Let's play some music. Like Nirvana, Bert?"

"Who doesn't?" I responded, grinning. He won't say it, but I think he liked what I had done. I don't know, I'm not really sure what I had done myself. I was too lost thinking about Gerard. But I think he's pleased.

"Lithium?"

"Sure."

"Hang on!" said Quinn. "Out of tune."

"Oh yeah, I might be out too," Jeph realized.

Branden played a few quick drum riffs while Quinn and Jeph messed with tuning and stuff. Quinn had just started to tune his strings when Jeph began testing his. Quinn glared and reached over to slap him. I studied Branden's room, winding the microphone cable around my hands.

"Okay," said Quinn, adjusting his cable a little. "I'm good."

"I was good all along," said Jepha cheerfully.

Quinn glanced at him and tried to slap him again.

Branden rolled his eyes and brought them to attention with a very quick, very loud drum riff. "Okay. Let's do this thing."

We played Lithium, and then Burn Out, by Green Day, and then for several minutes we just messed around. Then Quinn suggested they play some of their own music for me. I was excited to hear it. I left my microphone with Branden's mic stand, which I had not used at all up till now, and moved to sit on Branden's bed and watch.

"Okay, Bert." Quinn glanced back at the others. "You guys wanna do our newest?" he asked quickly. There was consensus, and he turned back to me. "Okay, this is our newest one. It's called…Maybe Memories."

And then Branden counted them in and they played this really awesome, ballsy riff. I loved it instantly. Then they had a break with loud, drawn-out power chords, and a bridge that led into a somewhat gentler part, drawn back on the distortion and with some clever bass fills from Jeph. They played really well as a band. Jeph was really involved for a bass player; none of my bass players have ever done much but back everyone else. Branden was the same. I thought he might be the most talented of the three of them. He got lost in his own rhythm, but never drew away from the others, playing for them, playing with them. It was brilliant.

I think they kind of forgot I was there while they were practicing. They played me several of their self-written songs, one of which Quinn sang with Jeph and Branden backing him. They were all good songs. I told them so when we decided it was time to quit and leave for the party. "We liked what you did with the vocals," Branden responded, nodding. "Well, I did anyway. What do you guys think?"

"Yeah."

"No, he's great."

Branden turned back to me, smiling like he was the one who was awesome and not me. "Then I'd like to call you our vocalist, at least temporarily. Cool?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"Okay. Oh…" He turned and pulled out a CD case without a cover. The disk inside had _DUMB LUCK_ written on it in thick, black permanent marker. "This is all of our stuff that we've recorded. Listen to it, let us know what you think. We need critics."

"Cool."

"All right, let's get out of here."

Quinn and Jepha left their equipment in Branden's room and we all climbed into Quinn's crappy car and began to drive. The drive was almost a party in itself. We turned the radio up really loud and there was a lot of pushing and teasing. Quinn nearly wrecked us three times, and he smacked me for being so distracting. I didn't care and just kept smiling. I was so happy now, happier than I can remember being in a long time. A few near-death experiences weren't about to bring me down from my high.

**Like it, guys? How do you feel about this whole thing? Is it good, does it suck? Is it too boring to be worth reviewing? 'Cuz I really really really want some reviews! So hit me. **

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	6. You Should See Me as a Chick

_6. __You Should See Me As a Chick_

What I love about parties is, you can be having like a really stressful day, like this absolutely horrible day, and then you walk into a party, and you've got instant ecstasy all around you. You just have to be able to let yourself feel that way too, like, get involved with that feeling, let it catch you up and take you away. And then no matter what's already happened to you, you'll be all right.

There were so many people packed into this one house it was crazy. And the whole house was on fire. Every single person was bouncing off the walls, everyone was high, there was smoke everywhere, and it was, just, awesome. I wanted in the moment I saw the house. I saw Quinn give me this look like he was concerned for my health and well-being or whatever, but I didn't even care. I am completely determined to do whatever the fuck I want tonight. And, even though I told myself it wasn't necessary and I didn't need it, I was also determined to do whatever it took to forget that image in the back of my mind that brought a stabbing pain into my heart every time I had nothing to think about. The image of Gerard, the night I left him, his face half obscured in darkness, and his eyes…so pained, and hurt, hurt because of me. I had hurt him so much.

I wished I had something with me now, something very sharp, because all I wanted suddenly was to hurt myself. I refocused my eyes instead on the house. I would forget all of this if I could. And I knew I could. I was determined to.

There was loud music pounding through the house, but the voices of the people in and around it were so loud you couldn't hear the lyrics. Someone bumped into me almost as soon as I walked inside and spilled their beer on my shirt. "Oh, I'm sorry," said this blonde girl, covering her mouth with her hand to hide her giggling.

"No problem," I said, taking the cup from her unsteady hand and drinking some of her beer. She was so drunk already that I swear she didn't even care.

"Jepha!" someone shouted to Quinn's bass player, who had come in just behind me.

"Joel!"

Quinn and I left Jeph to his friend and began exploring the house, finding beer and accidentally bumping into a lot of people. The place was _really _crowded.

"Hey, Quinn!" someone shouted, and I looked around to see this random guy pushing his way through the crowd toward us.

Quinn smiled. "Hey, Steven," he said, grasping the guy's hand warmly. "What's happening?"

"Not much, how've you been? Who's your friend?"

I smiled, even though I decided Steven was annoying, as Quinn introduced me. "Steve, this is Bert. Bert, Steve."

"Hey," I said, nodding.

Steven didn't offer me his hand. I think I disgust him a little, and that made me smile. I would ask Quinn about it later.

"So, what happened with that friend and the dare and all that?" Quinn asked. "Did he accept it?"

"Yeah, he did. He never actually did it though, he got close, but he never actually did it. He always does that, he accepts, he pretends, but ultimately he never does it."

"I'm not the dare-accepting type," Quinn stated.

"I don't do dares," Steven agreed. "I only make them."

"I do," I stated, just wanting to be contrary. "I accept dares all the time. It's my life."

Steven eyed me like he maybe didn't believe what I was saying. Which kind of made me wanna punch his face. "I dare you, then," he said firmly. "I dare you to…I dare you to kiss another guy." And he gave me this little grin like he didn't believe I would do it. Quinn laughed a little and turned away, trying to hide his smile. Steven had bet the wrong person.

I brushed my hand down my face, thinking about it. "What will you give me if I do?" I asked.

Steven huffed. "You don't get stuff for completing a dare."

"I always get stuff for completing a dare. Come on, what you gonna give me?"

Steven glanced around and then stated, really slow and concise, "Fifty. Dollars." And then he gave that little smile again. Like he thought even with the offer of money, I was gonna back out. Or maybe he just really wants to see me kiss a dude. Pervert.

I glanced around too, imitating him, but my mind was already made up. I turned back to him. "Done," I said, and grabbed Steven by the face and slammed my mouth into his.

All the people standing around us gave this collective exclamation and then laughter, and we both got punched and slapped. Steven tried to pull away, but I wouldn't let him leave yet. I wanted to draw this out for all it was worth. I smiled against his mouth. This was fun.

After a few seconds…time for him to be shocked and embarrassed…I released his face and drew away, still smiling.

He was still shocked. That made me happy.

I held out my hand. "You owe me fifty bucks," I stated.

Steven's shocked expression collapsed into this new expression of disgust and irritation, and he grumbled as he reached for his wallet. I handed the money directly to Quinn, who was still shaking his head at Steven's bad luck. "For the rent," I said, smirking.

"You still have one hundred fifty dollars to go," Quinn responded with a straight face. I don't know how he did that.

The party got crazier from there, if that was even possible. The music got louder…I hadn't realized it even _could_…and the host shouted for everyone to grab someone else and dance to the song playing. All the guys turned and scrambled to grab their favorite girl from the crowd before someone else got her. I felt this horrid pang in my heart. I wished Gerard was here.

No. I came in here to forget Gerard. I wasn't allowed to think of him now.

I turned to Quinn. He was looking at me like maybe he somehow knew what I was after, even though his brain hadn't figured it out yet. "Dance with me, sweetness," I heard myself say, and I reached out and grabbed Quinn by the waist, pulling him closer to me.

"Bert, you hopeless fag…" Quinn responded, but he put his hands on my shoulders and let me dance him around the house. I smiled, pushing away my thoughts of Gerard, Gerard's sweet face, his eyes, so tortured…_ Stop it_. I pulled Quinn's hips up against mine and danced with him in circles, so that I couldn't see the crowd around us at all, only Quinn's face, since he was spinning with me. Then the song ended and we stopped in front of the hallway. Whoa, I'm really dizzy now.

Several guys were pushing their way up the hall in high spirits. One of them was carrying this little black dress. "Brian!" one of his friends shouted. "Yo, what's with the dress?"

The host…I guess his name was Brian…blanched when he saw the dress. "Nothing! Nothing! That's not mine!"

"Then who's is it, _Brian?_" they demanded.

Brian pushed his way over and the guys dropped the dress and ran, congratulating themselves on riling the host. A lot of people had moved outside to the lawn, which was where they ran, probably hoping to hide behind the crowd.

Jeph Howard came back in from outside. His eyes lit on the dress and he raced over to it, snatching it off the floor. "Ooo, whose dress is this?" he asked, waving it in the air.

"We just had that debate, go wrestle the answer out of Brian," someone responded.

"Hey Bert," said Jeph, grinning at me. "I bet you look good in a dress."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Quinn rolling his.

"You bet I do," I responded, coming forward and reaching for the dress.

I think I've had too much to drink. I think I have. There's this tiny part of my brain that keeps telling me that, but the rest of me doesn't care. I grasped the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Several girls nearby screamed. Jeph was watching me with a grin on his face. I met his eyes and mirrored his grin. I stripped down to just my boxers and reached for the dress. Jeph helped pull it over my head. "Oh, Bert, you're gorgeous," he stated, stepping back to admire me in my dress. I danced around in it a little, trying to be all seductive and pretty. Several people laughed and whistled.

"Dance with me, beautiful!" someone shouted.

"Bring me another beer first," I responded automatically.

Wearing a dress at a party is always fun.

Uuuugghhh…

My head hurts. My head hurts _a lot_. What did I do last night?

I opened my eyes a little. What, this isn't my room? Holy crap, where am I? No, wait, I ran, I'm in Quinn's house…no, not really… I was on the floor, and the floor was cold. I was surrounded by wooden walls…no, they were cabinets. I was in some kitchen…oh, Brian's kitchen. 'Cause I was at Brian's party. And I drank a lot of beer and I put on that black dress.

I wasn't wearing the dress now. No idea where it went.

Someone groaned next to me. I think it was Quinn. I glanced over and saw it was. He was lying several feet away, just raising his head and looking at me through shafts of golden hair. "What happened to your dress?"

"I have no idea," I responded, starting to think it was funny instead of tragic. I got to my feet and blood rushed away from my brain way too fast. I almost blacked out, catching myself against the kitchen cabinets.

"Stop talking," someone moaned from somewhere else in the house.

I looked around into the living room, where I thought I'd heard the voice, but no one was moving in there. There were several people sprawled out on the couches, on the floor. Jeph raised his head from the carpet and shook it slightly, looking delirious. He saw me as I moved out into the hallway. "Bert," he said. "Your dress is gone."

"I know," I said, pouting. "It was a nice dress, too."

My old clothes were still lying in the hall where I'd abandoned them, so I pulled them back on and sat down in the hallway, leaning my head back against the wall. I was exhausted. My whole body felt abused.

Jeph struggled to his feet and came slowly into the hallway and sat down next to me. "Hey."

"Hey." And for several minutes we sat there, absolutely still, too exhausted to move or speak or anything.

"Uugh, we should prob'ly go home," I heard Quinn moaning from the kitchen.

"Yeah," said Jeph, yawning. "Can I crash at your place for a while?"

"Yeah," Quinn responded. The upper half of his body came into view as he stood up on the other side of the kitchen counter. "Where's Branden?"

We found him outside, asleep in a lawn chair with this blonde girl on top of him. I shook him while Quinn slowly peeled the girl away from him and Jeph whispered random, insulting wake-up calls in his face. Branden's eyes finally fluttered open. "Wha…what? Jepha? What are you doing?" Then he woke up more fully and became more of his usual self. "Get out of my face, bitch!"

"That's Branden," Jeph decided, stepping wisely out of Branden's reach.

"We're going back to my place for a while, you wanna go?" asked Quinn.

"Yeah," Branden agreed, and we wandered out to Quinn's car like the last zombies still moving after a raid. Quinn and Branden climbed into the front seats so I climbed in the back with Jepha. He sat limply in his seat, looking beaten, and I leaned across to lay my head on his shoulder, feeling just as beaten as he appeared. "Aw, is Bert still tired?" Jepha asked, putting his arms around me. Ah, I like Jepha. He knows I like to be hugged. I nestled my head closer against his shoulder and closed my eyes, letting the pain in my skull absorb me. I heard a clicking sound in front of my face and cracked my eyes just wide enough to see the flame from Jeph's lighter and the smoldering end of a cigarette. "Want one?" he asked; I knew he was looking down at me 'cause I felt his head shifting.

"Mm-hm," I mumbled, and he handed me the one he'd just lit, pulling out another for himself.

We pulled up outside Quinn's house and everyone limped inside. The TV was turned on, although nobody had the brain power left to pay attention to it. The kitchen was raided…no, that's the wrong word. 'Cause it was the slowest raid in history, and it took more people than necessary. Jeph was washing his face in the bathroom. Then everyone went back into the living room and crashed, over the couch, on the floor, against each other. And I don't remember the rest. All I knew was that even though I and probably everyone else was in all sorts of pain, this somehow felt good. Being here among these people, surviving of our own intelligence and initiative, no one to tell us what to do or how to do it - that was good. And having these people to share it with - that was good too.

**"It's always fun to climb into a dress when you're having a party, right? So we were having a party and I did just that, I poured myself into a dress. When I woke up - and I woke between the kitchen cabinets - I wasn't wearing the dress any longer. No idea where it went. It was a nice dress as well, a little black number. Do I look good in dress? Always." ~ Bert McCracken**

**Gotta love Bert. 3**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


	7. Maybe Memories

**'Sup, guys? Um...you have no idea how hard it was to write The Shower Scene.**

_Maybe Memories_

I woke up alone. I thought I was hugging Quinn, but it was only the tangled mess of his blankets. Meh.

The house was so quiet and felt so empty without him here. I wandered into the kitchen and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I sat on the couch but didn't turn on the TV. I kind of liked the silence, as desolate and unusual as it was.

The world started to awake as I sat there; I could hear commotion from the houses next door, some voices outside. I heard a sound like someone trying to kick a mini-bike into ignition. A woman shouting, and then laughter.

I washed my bowl clean and wandered back to the bedroom. It was just as much a wreck as it had been when I had walked in a few days ago…what was that? Three days? Four? I don't really know, and I don't really care.

My eyes were drawn to the CD case on the desk beside the bed. I moved over to it. It was the disc Branden had given me yesterday…or, um, Saturday. Parties knock time funny. The guys had made plans for another practice later tonight before we dropped them off at home yesterday. I absently put the disc in Quinn's stereo, thinking about the screaming fight Branden and his mom had been in when we left.

I pressed play. There was a small pause, long enough for my mind to wander, and then the deep, pulsing riff of Maybe Memories filled Quinn's small bedroom. My heartbeat picked up, my breathing stilled. This was awesome. It was moving and fantastic.

And then I was scrabbling for paper. There was none, but there was a permanent marker on the bedside table. I grabbed it and began to write the words in my head, scribbling them across my arm.

_As we trudge along through the mud,_

_We try to call it home,_

_But we weren't all right_

_Not at all_

_Not for one second_

I have no more space on my arm. Screw this. I climbed onto Quinn's bed, balancing on my knees, pressing my hand to the wall above the headboard, and wrote across the drywall.

_Never have been one to write it down_

_Now I think I can,_

_I know I'm stronger now._

_Who's looking south?_

_Not me, I'm not looking back._

_Done denying the truth to anyone_

'_Cuz I'm alive._

The track ended, but I kept writing. "_White it out_," I sang to myself, "_like glittering wax butterflies_."

* * *

><p>I think hours have passed. I fell asleep curled on Quinn's bed, and I feel all bleary and tired now. The radio was on, music playing, and there were footsteps in the house. So Quinn must be home. I guess the front door woke me up.<p>

"Bert? I'm home."

I blinked my eyes a little and watched Quinn appear in the doorway. "Hey," he said. His eyes darted immediately from me to the writing above my head. I pretended I didn't know it was there.

Quinn dropped his hoodie and came to sit beside me on the bed. "There's paper in the house, you know."

"Yeah," I said, glancing up at him from under my lashes, trying to be all flirtatious and pretty. I must have won him over - of course I did, I'm so irresistible - because after a few seconds he laughed and let it go. I impulsively reached up and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down on top of me on the bed. "Did you have a nice day at work, sugar?" I asked, snuggling him, while tiny needles stabbed at my heart for using the word _sugar_. That was one of Gerard's words.

"No," he scoffed, fondling my disgusting and greasy hair. "I can't wait to get out of here for band practice."

"Same here," I mumbled, although I honestly didn't care. I kissed the top of Quinn's head and shifted to the side, pushing him off me so I could snuggle into his chest. This moment was honestly too nice for me to imagine wanting anything else.

* * *

><p>I read them the words I had written. I was confident they would like them. They did. Quinn already liked them, since he had read them off the wall. Branden seemed impressed, and that made me happy.<p>

"Bert," he said when I had finished. "You're hired. I want you as the band's full-time vocalist. You guys agree?"

"Agreed," said Jepha, while Quinn nodded.

"It's done then," said Branden, and shook my hand. "Welcome to Dumb Luck."

That feels fantastic.

* * *

><p>"Guys, Bert needs a job," Quinn said later as we sat together on top of his car in the dark, eating ice cream that we couldn't afford but knew we deserved.<p>

"What?" I laughed. "I don't need one…"

"So what's the prescription going to be, my learned colleagues?"

Jeph pretended to push a pair of spectacles down his nose so he could look Quinn in the eye. "My prescription, Mr. Allman, would be that your Mr. McCracken needs to get _a job_." He gave a decisive nod and leaned back on the roof of the car, delicately licking his ice cream. "Mr. Steineckert?"

"I concur," said Branden, also in a stiff, doctor voice. "Your friend needs a job."

"Where?" asked Quinn. "'Cause I've been looking…casually, but whatever…and no one's hiring right now."

"I don't really need a real job," I said. Wait, what am I thinking? I really need a fucking job.

"You gotta get a job. You gotta pay the rent," Quinn stated with a straight face. Quinn Allman is the king of the straight face.

"I'm gonna get a job," said Jeph, giggling as he quoted that George Thorogood song I love so much. I haven't heard it since the last time…I was…in Gerard's car. "I'm gonna pay the rent."

"Well, my place is hiring," said Branden, tossing his unused napkin into the darkness.

"Where d'you work?" I asked, glancing at Quinn. He wasn't paying close enough attention to his ice cream, so I leaned across the two inches between us and sucked the ice cream off his cone for him.

"Moving company," said Branden as Quinn smacked me. "My dad owns one. Works not bad, pay's not great, but it's all right. The hours aren't too long either."

"But I'm…kind of…weak," I said lamely, rubbing my arm where Quinn had slapped it.

Jepha started laughing.

I probably shouldn't have said that, 'cause it started this need for an arm wrestling match. Every one of us wrestled everyone else, just so everyone would know who was the strongest. I was the weakest; I lost to everyone but Jepha, and he was laughing really hard, so I blame it on that. I think a three month old baby girl could have beaten him.

"Anyway, strength doesn't really matter that much, we can use you somewhere," Branden finished, waving his hand around after beating Quinn (who was also waving his hand, but in pain at having it crushed by Branden). "You could apply tomorrow if you make it in before twelve. You up for it?"

"Yeah," I decided. I didn't really decide, though. I just said it. I just say things a lot.

"Okay. I'll tell Dad you're coming."

* * *

><p>"Bert, you should take a shower."<p>

"But I don't want one."

"You're going to a job interview tomorrow, you should probably be _clean_."

"I'm reasonably clean. Come on, I hate showers." "Bert," Quinn warned, but he wasn't able to keep himself from grinning. We were standing at opposite ends of the hallway to his bedroom, and he was pointing a threatening finger at me. "Don't make me make you."

"I'd like to see you make me," I stated, folding my arms across my chest.

"I will."

"Go ahead."

"I will." He was coming toward me, but it doesn't mean anything, 'cause he's not gonna do it. He reached out his hands for me. Oh, fuck, maybe he was.

"You won't," I said, shrinking away from him. My back hit the wall. I was trapped, and this psycho was going to make me take a shower! I giggled a little at the thought.

Quinn suddenly leaped forward and grabbed my arms.

"Hey! Don't do this, let me go! Let go!" I screamed pathetically as he dragged me down the hall to the bathroom. He pushed me inside and slammed the door behind us so I couldn't escape. I watched him, ready to dodge if he tried to grab me, but not actually sure that I would.

Quinn pointed to the shower. "There it is. Go, get clean, now."

I shook my head. "No." My voice sounds so petulant. It brought a smile to my lips.

Quinn was smiling too, like he couldn't stop himself. "Bert."

"No," I said again, and before I could think he was tackling me, pressing me up against the sink and holding me there so I couldn't break free. His hand scrabbled over my chest as he tried to unzip my hoodie. Then he reached down and pulled at the sleeves, letting my abused hoodie fall to the floor. Quinn was grasping the hem of my shirt. I didn't feel like fighting with him anymore, just let him pull it off over my head. My greasy black hair fell around my shoulders. Quinn lifted one of the strands of my hair in front of my face so I could admire how filthy it really was. "Bert, you're hair is so disgusting," he stated, but his face was really close to mine and he looked like he'd lost his resolve. "You should really…you need to…"

I feel so high. I reached forward and grasped at his shirt, pulling him into me hard and kissing his lips, all wet and mushy and disgusting.

"Mhm," he mumbled, but I didn't let him go. This was so filthy and I loved it.

Then I felt his hands slide across my waist and over my back. His fingers were so cold, he was making me shiver. I clutched at him, pulling him closer for warmth and finally breaking my lips away from his. I meant to say something, but just as I opened my mouth, Quinn slammed his lips into mine. He was kissing me. Shock coursed through my entire being. Nobody ever played these games with me. No one. But he was kissing me. He was definitely fucking kissing me.

Oooohh…

His hands were unzipping my shorts now, so I grasped his shirt and began undressing him too. The next thing I was aware of was falling into the shower with Quinn, kissing him and being kissed, Quinn and water all around me, surrounding me. Heat, fire…I've caught fire…

**_Seemed to stop my breath...my head on your chest..._**

**:)**

**Xoxo,**

**Rebel Rose**


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